


Do Not Go Gently

by ebenflo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Iron-Dad, M/M, Oneshot, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Spider-son, blink and you'll miss it starker, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenflo/pseuds/ebenflo
Summary: **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ENDGAME**Turn back if you haven't seen the movie yet.





	Do Not Go Gently

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted before Endgame was released, as part of a one-shot collection. Tinkered a bit and re-posted it here now because ENDGAME FEELS.

The first week is hell. Everything reminds you of him and most of the time you forget to breathe. You hold on to an old Stark Industries jumper that you stole from headquarters, burying your face in its soft pillowy interior and imagining it smells like his sweat and cologne and not just washing powder and sun. Food goes untouched. Cards and letters unopened. You eat very little, drink even less, and the coffee you drink you take black because that’s what he liked and every scalding sip makes you feel just the tiniest bit alive. You tell yourself your hands are shaking because of the caffeine.

You still haven’t put the suit on. How could you?

Your aunt doesn’t know how to help, though she tries, oh how she tries. But you shy from her touch. You rant and rave like the child you pretend you aren’t and she damn well lets you. Lets you make angry accusations and say ugly, untrue things. She gives you space, and you want to laugh because it was always about space. How you wanted to go there. And when you finally did you found nothing but death (first yours and then his, but the difference is he’s never coming back).

Your friends can’t help, though they want to. You can’t take the pity in Ned’s face nor the open sorrow in Michelle’s. They don’t know, how can they know? But you don’t say it, and they don’t ask. They don’t ask about him. A dead man in a tin suit who gave you the world and then gave himself  _for_  the world.

Days move on, a steady relentless march, and the world starts coming back to life around you. The others, they trickle in and out; sometimes they even dare to touch you. Like Carol, who cradles you as you sob. And Bruce, who brings you more coffee and an editorial page that declares Tony a hero.

Hero. Mentor. Father. Friend.

You don't use the L word. You can’t say any more because you were a child to him then and it burns you. You're a man now,but he'll never see that with his own eyes.

You remind yourself how to breathe. Every scrape of air through your lungs is miserable, painful and you wished you didn’t have to. There are days when you try to drown yourself in the bath, when they finally manage to convince you to bathe, but the survival instinct is too strong and you pull yourself up from beneath the cooling water, gasping and choking. You beg death to take you too but she’s a cruel mistress, smiling gently upon you and saying,  _not today, Peter Parker_. You cough and sometimes it feels like the sands of Titan still course through your bronchioles.

Then one day, one not so significant, overcast day, you decide to put on the suit, the one he first made you. You’re not sure why you even pick it up in the first place, but something beckons from behind the blue and red material. You slip into its silky caress, feeling it tighten and mould to your limbs.

Karen is gone. And in her place, a voice so familiar you cry out, hands grasping at open air for the ghost of a memory.

“Hey, Kid.” His voice is soft and sure, wrapping around you like an invisible caress.

“Mister Stark…?” You blink rapidly, eyes fogging inside your mask.

“If you’re hearing this then…I guess I didn’t make it. I’m gone. And I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Peter. I hope I made it worthwhile.”

You sob, clutching your sides, and Tony’s voice 'tsks' gently.

“Peter… this interface…I made sure that whatever was left of me, all my thoughts, my memories, my dreams. Everything I was…I leave to you. My legacy. Peter,  _you are my legacy_.”

“I-I miss you.”

He chuckles gently and you wish you could see those eyes, the edges crinkling like wrapping paper on Christmas morning.

“I miss you too, Kid. Wherever I am, wherever I ended up, know that I'm wishing with every fibre of my being that I could be back here with you. But I can’t. These are the cards we got dealt and now it’s up to you to finish the hand.”

“I can’t do this.” Hysteria bubbles up inside you.

“You can. Peter, sweetheart, look out there.”

You do. You see a city, teeming with life, that you had shied away from, hidden from.

“Peter, those people out there? They need you.”

“I need you,” you insist, frantic.

Tony makes a soft humming noise in his throat.

“Hmmm. You may, yes. And there may be days where you think you can’t get out of bed. When it feels like that building is back on top of you, or the water's too deep or the current's are too strong. And maybe you'll  feel like you’re breaking apart. But I promise those days will become fewer, and the spaces between them longer. And there’ll come a day, maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, or next week. But a day when you look back at our time together and you smile. Gosh I really hope you smile, Kid. There's so much out there worth living for. Worth fighting for."

He goes quiet, and you think he’s left, but you hear soft, measured breathing in your ear. And you don’t think to question why a computer interface, even one as smart as Mr. Stark’s, should be breathing.

And you hiccup with the next sob but your heaving lessens. The pain in your heart is still present, but the raging dulls.

You look out at the world, tips of buildings gilded by the light of the setting sun, and you realise there’s a feeling of something bright and sharp that flickers at the corners of your blackened heart and you realise it for what is is. That you won’t waste the precious gift of life Tony gave you. You can’t.

Because with his dying breath he bought your future.

He bought hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the ouchies. If it's any consolation I'm writing a Post-Endgame fix-it called "All Of My Days" which is also on AO3 that I would ask you to kindly consider checking out! xxoo


End file.
